Rancour
by Starlit Skyline
Summary: It all happened because of him. The monster that had lead the Chitauri Army. The thing that had caused a massive genocide and killed countless innocents with his own hands. He was to blame for all of this. He killed her. And he was going to pay.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or Spider-Man, be it the movies or comics, and don't make any profit from writing this fanfiction. It is purely for the entertainment of any good reader who might deem it worth reading and for my own personal enjoyment. Also, this is movie-verse on both accounts and happens after the Amazing Spider-Man, but before the second movie._

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><p><em>Prologue<em>

It was amazing just how fast New York was rebuilding itself. The streets were still full of debris and smashed cars covered the roads, even as the populace milled throughout the city, going about their usual businesses. Many buildings were still wrecked and missing entire walls or even a few floors shorter, left open like rotting wounds. Some were to be demolished because they were beyond repair, others would simply be reconstructed and fixed.

Some things, however, were much more harder to heal.

A lot of people had been killed or perished in the destruction wrought by the alien invaders. Graveyards were filled with mourners and funerals were abundant among the seas of cold, lifeless marble stones. Many had died but many had lived on still, scarred as they had become.

Time mended a broken heart, people said, but what about ashes and dust? Could you patch up something that was now just a gaping hole in an aching chest?

Still, the world hadn't ended that day, but for one Peter Parker, it might as well have.

After all, the world _had_ended for her.

Peter clenched his fist around the wooden frame of the photograph until they were white and his grip almost painful. It was nothing compared with the pain in his heart.

_Aunt May._His mind whispered brokenly. _Why?_

Why? Why? _Why?_He'd asked this question a hundred times over, whispered it when he was curled up on his bed and crying in his pillow in that now empty house, shouted it to the heavens as he soured above the ruins of the city and screamed at himself with those unanswered questions that burned in his eyes like tears.

Why did she have to die? She wasn't supposed to die. Aunt May was supposed to live and be happy and fuss over his and he was supposed _to protect her._But he hadn't. He'd failed. And everything came crashing down after that.

It was Uncle Ben all over again, but this time he hadn't even been there to witness it.

"_The house collapsed on her,"_he remembered a paramedic saying, his face blurred and dark _"We'd found her in the kitchen, crushed under the debris. She had a broken pelvis, four broken ribs and two fractured ones and a dislocated spine. We believe she survived the initial impact of the ceiling crashing down on her. She also suffered because a rib had punctured her lung, causing it to collapse. We have her in the ER now, but it's doubtful she'll ever wake up, Mr. Parker, it might be better, for all parties involved, if you just pulled the plug."_

The words left his numb and reeling at the same time, the voice speaking to him distant and the syllables fluctuating strangely, yet so clear in his mind.

"_I'm sorry, but we still need you to identify her. It's procedure."_

Oh God, he didn't want to think about it anymore. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to see her blank, pale and lifeless face again as she slept in the white-washed hospital bed or how her expression still held the remnants of pain she must have suffered before finally going under – _No, no stop it! Stop it!_

He couldn't take it anymore. His insides felt like boiled mush and lava, his mouth still filled with the taste of bile and the puke even when he'd thrown up many times over in the past few days. It felt so unreal and yet the cold fingers of reality held him firmly withing their grasp, clutching and squeezing at his heart as if testing if it too would stop.

Peter wished it would. He wished the pain would go away. But above all, he wished he could have saved her. He wished he could run up to her warm and motherly figure and hear her laugh as he clung to her like a small child. He wished he could have done all of that. No, even better, he wished this entire mess hadn't happened at all.

It all happened because of _him._

The _monster_ that had lead the Chitauri Army. The _thing_ that had caused a massive genocide and killed countless innocents with his own hands. He was to blame for all of this. He killed _her_.

And he was going to _pay._

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><p><strong>This idea has been bugging me for the last couple of weeks, so I finally decided to write it down. This is just a teaser, just so I can see how people will react to it and decide whether or not to write more. As for Aunt May... Please don't hate me. As you can see, this isn't going to be your fluffy little "Spidey meets the Avengers" kind of fic. This is <strong>**_dark_****, and I'll give you a fair warning: things will get bad, then worse, then pretty much hit rock bottom before they get any better. Just so you know.**

**So, review? I really want to know what people think about this. Should I continue or not?**


	2. Chapter One

__**AN: Wow, there's actually a lot of people interested in this and that makes me very happy. I'll keep this AN short, since you're all probably more interested in the story than my blabbering on and on, so - A big thank you to all those who reviewed! Here's chapter 2!**__

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><p><em>Chapter One: Flying and Falling<em>

The week after the Chitauri invasion passed in a blur for Peter.

He remembered getting back home, finding it demolished, talking to the paramedics, than the police but the last two were faded and smudged out, any words said were like spoken underwater. Everything just seemed too distorted and fuzzy, like a bad photograph. His memory disappeared further every time he tried to recall any particular detail. Truthfully, he didn't want to remember at all. He'd give anything just to forget.

He'd spent the first night after it happened in the police station, in shock and hardly speaking. He hadn't slept, hadn't so much as winked. The next day he got a call from Gwen somewhere about 6 AM. She'd been in hysterics. Apparently she'd been trying to call him all day yesterday, both during and after the Chitauri attack, right up until her battery died. She was safe, thank God, and so was the rest of her family.

After he'd managed to calm her down, which had taken up a good ten minutes, he'd told her – in the same, monotonous, listless tone as before – that he was at some police station he hadn't cared to catch the name of and she'd stormed in there just half an hour later.

When he saw her, flustered yet determined, with her blond hair disheveled and falling haphazardly around her shoulders, it was suddenly easier to breathe. Peter hadn't even realized how suffocating and dark the world had become in the past couple of hours, but he was suddenly all too aware of it when he caught a glimpse of Gwen.

Gwen, who'd he'd also promised to keep safe – _like he'd promised to keep Aunt May safe _– who'd he'd promised to keep away from, both to her late father and to himself. But that didn't matter, at that moment, nothing mattered. Just Gwen, only Gwen.

Peter had stood up as if in a dream, his feet shaky from all the hours trying to sleep sitting up on a wooden bench, and his vision might have blurred for a second or two. Then Gwen was hugging him. She was hugging him for dear life and Peter just stood there, stunned and too numb to move. Then he was hugging her back too, with everything he had and silently vowing to himself never to let go.

They'd stayed like that for a few long, meaningful moments. After they broke apart, Gwen had all but ordered him to come with her, explained who she was to the officers in charge and pulled some strings. Fifteen minutes later they were heading to her house in silence.

Gwen tried to start up conversation a few times, just to distract him from everything that was happening, but her attempts soon died down because there was honestly nothing to talk about other than the Chitauri and the consequences the day before would have on all of them. It was decidedly something Peter did not want to think about, though he knew he'd have to face it eventually.

The apartment building the Stacy family lived in was mostly undamaged, since it was a good distance away from the city center, but the way from the police station to there was littered with signs of the fallen invaders. Their corpses had been cleared out, thankfully, but blood – both alien and otherwise – stained side-walks and the walls of buildings. Cracked concrete and wrecked cars were so abundant on some streets they'd probably remain closed for the next couple of days, at least.

When they got to Gwen's apartment, Mrs. Stacy opened the door with a tight smile. She was going out to see if she could buy some groceries, since most of the stores were closed it would be pretty hard though. Peter graciously accepted her offer to stay for as long as he liked and headed over to the sofa.

Gwen disappeared somewhere into the apartment, knowing Peter was better left alone at this point. The twins didn't bother him either and he hoped it would stay that way, at least for the next couple of hours.

Too exhausted to dream, Peter slept.

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><p>The days with the Stacies passed slowly and quickly at the same time. It was surreal and Peter knew it wouldn't last. He'd wander the apartment, wander the city on the few instances he'd gone out and talk to Gwen when she'd all but forced him to sit down and look her in the eye.<p>

He felt like a caged animal.

He visited Aunt May in the hospital, where she still lay comatose. He hadn't for the first two days but after he'd forced himself to go and see her, for what he knew might be the last time, he went every day after that. Though there was no change in his only remaining, living – a lump lodged itself in Peter's throat just thinking about it – relative . The doctor's said she'd fallen into a coma and every time the same bloody man asked him if it was time to pull the plug and move on. Every god-damned fucking time. Peter understood that the hospitals were flooded and vacancy was next to none, but it took everything he had not to punch the living daylights out of that arrogant bastard.

He'd come close a couple of times too.

Sunday evening was uneventful as ever, and the play of normalcy stuck like expired glue, but he'd sat down with the Stacies and they'd had dinner. Peter had announced he was leaving.

Gwen had protested immediately, but after some discussion and her mother's input, she backed off. Peter was glad for that, though he knew he wasn't off the hook.

He decided he'd just wake up early, leave a note or something and be on his way. It was disrespectful, he knew, but Peter was too exhausted to care. He needed time to himself, time to forget.

Sleep evaded him that night and he spent hours just staring up at the living-room ceiling.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he was suddenly in his own house as debris and handfuls of concrete rained down, walls cracked and an all too familiar scream he hadn't been there to hear – _„Peter! Peter! Where are you?!" – _filled his ears.

His eyes snapped open. The not quite familiar ceiling stared back at him.

That was it. Peter needed to go, _now_.

Peter needed to forget.

He needed to forget about Peter, just for a while.

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><p>Peter was flying.<p>

He soared above the streets of New York, swung from building to building like a spider's thread carried by the wind. The night sky opened up above him, as if beckoning him to come closer, go higher and higher until he could finally reach all stars suspended in it's darkness.

He felt free, weightless, for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Up here, there was no responsibilities, no dying Aunts in hospital beds, no Gwen to keep away from, nothing to anchor him and sink him back to the hell his life had become in just one short week. There was absolutely nothing. Not even Peter – especially not Peter.

It was just him, New York's friendly neighborhood Spider-man.

His body flexed and bent in his red and blue spandex, but he was hardly aware of his muscles moving. He was hardly aware of anything, really. Just the buildings and the obstacles in his way. His mind was strangely blank, but he wasn't complaining. Some reprieve from the dark thoughts that had been haunting him would do his mental state some good. He swore he'd go crazy if he thought too much on what he'd do after everything.

He was tight for money, he only had what he'd taken with him the day the Chitauri attacked. He could probably access Aunt May's bank account and she'd probably left him something in her will, but he'd rather not dwell on that for as long as he didn't need to. He was still a minor, technically, but his eighteenth birthday was in two and a half months and orphanages were stock full as it was.

A coiling rage twisted and simmered in his gut, like a snake waiting for its prey.

He fired off some web from his web-shooter with more force than necessary. He swung wide and low, just above the roofs of the abundant traffic. He was so absorbed in his silent anger that the abrupt scream made his lose his grip and some fall twenty feet before he'd regained his senses. His ears throbbed, but hey, that was what you got from super-enhanced hearing. Not that he was complaining about having super powers – because, hello, they were super powers – but next time he'd like something along the lines of flying or shooting laser-beams out of his eyes to hearing the old man across the street snoring his ass off. Or the little, tone-deaf girl next door playing violin. Or the dog barking at 4 AM...

But Peter guessed it was pretty good when alerting him to muggings and whatnot. So, really, he shouldn't have been complaining.

And this was what he'd been waiting for, wasn't it? Nothing said stress relief like beating up thugs in the middle of the night in red spandex. No, really, it was true.

He let go of the thick web and let himself fall.

Again, he felt free as the air whipped past him.

After all, flying had become just like falling for him, hadn't it?

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><p>The next morning Peter had breakfast at some dingy old diner at the edge of town. The food was okay, more or less, and more importantly it was cheap which to him made all the difference.<p>

He missed Aunt May's homemade meals – not the Mrs. Stacy wasn't a good cook, but it just wasn't the same.

Peter ate the food without really tasting any of it, made sure he got everything on his plate too, since he wasn't planning on having lunch or anything. It would be just breakfast and dinner for him from now on, he needed to save up as much money as possible until he got a job. Taking pictures for the Buggle had always been a good source of income, but it just wouldn't cut it anymore. He had to find some day-time job now too.

J. Jonah Jameson had been surprisingly lenient on him too, since he hadn't turned in any pictures of their alien invaders – he'd been too busy saving people's lives, but hadn't been able to save everyone, now had he? He still had his post if he could still snap a couple of pics of either the Avengers, the many baddies around town and, of course, Spidey. But to Peter that just proved that Jonah was indeed human, who would have guessed, right?

Wiping his mouth, Peter was about to get up when the old TV on the counter crackled to life.

„_...will be rebuilt. In other news, Anthony E. Stark aka Tony Stark aka Iron Man has released a statement to the press, informing on further procedures regarding the war criminal Loki Odinson. As stated by Mr. Stark, Loki Odinson will be punished on his native Asgard, by their laws. The government and Avengers team had all consented to this idea and claim that the criminal will by no means be escaping justice–"_

„Hey kid, you gonna pay or what?" Peter jumped as the abrupt voice cut through his thoughts. He'd been so absorbed in the news report he hadn't even noticed that the waitress had come up to take his bill.

Peter shook himself „Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah."

Thankfully, she hadn't startled him enough for him to stick to the ceiling. Yeah, because that would have so fun to explain. Fishing out his wallet, Peter paid for his meal and threw one last look at the TV. The news broadcast had moved on to the weather.

He ran out the door.

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><p>He swung above the city late into the night. After the incident at breakfast, he'd needed to clear his head. Peter hadn't come down since. The wind whipped around his lithe form like it had that morning, but instead of it being the welcome caress of a breeze, it was biting cold. His limbs felt somewhat like jelly, just parts being tugged this way and that by invisible strings – well, maybe not, his web was as real as they got.<p>

He felt lost, like he had after Uncle Ben died, disembodied and lost. Peter had thought that he'd regained his purpose, yesterday, that he'd found a way to keep on going by continuing to be Spider-man. If he continued to save people... It was what had saved him last time, hadn't it? It had almost been the thing to end him too. Revenge.

Spidey was a thing born out of a radioactive spider bite and his own personal vendetta. But it had become more than that, hadn't it? He'd managed to help people, to save lives, be the kind of man Uncle Ben would have wanted him to be! Didn't that count for just as much?

But what now, genius? What good had it all been to him when the Chitauri invaded, when Loki crash-landed on their planet and decided it was the next species he was going to butcher?

Loki.

That name sent searing bolts of anger down Peter's veins.

And they were letting him go! The government! The Avengers! Just like that! Like he hadn't killed off hundreds of people and destroyed their homes and ruined the lives of the remaining survivors. What the hell was up with that?! Why let him go after all he'd done?!

_No, stop it. Stop it. _Peter shouted at himself internally. _You came up here to clear your head, not to mess it up further._

Taking a deep breath, Peter listened for any signs of trouble, anything to distract him.

He wasn't Peter Parker up here, he was Spider-man. And he had a job to do.

There. He could hear the ear-splitting crackle of breaking glass some hundred meters away from him. He smirked to himself. He couldn't hear any alarms going off, so that meant the local probably hadn't been revisited after the invasion and the alarm was either busted or off-line. Well, that was what he was for!

Swinging 'round a ten-story apartment building, he stuck to the edge of the wall. It had the perfect view of the convenience store across the street. Which was deserted. How convenient.

Swinging down, he dived low and barged through the broken window to land upside down on the ceiling. The robber – and there was only one...? – didn't notice him at all. Well, too bad for him.

Smirking to himself, Peter crouched on the ceiling and fired off twin blasts from his web-shooters. With a shout, the guy found himself stuck to the wall by the shoulder and wrist. The money fell from his hands and onto the tiled floor.

The man struggled in his new-found restraints.

„Let me go!" he yelled, his head swirling this way and that in search of his invisible attacker.

Peter jumped down from the ceiling, further startling his prey.

„Yeah, not gonna happen pal."

Instead of cursing, like any good thug in this town would, the man perked up. „Spidey! No, please! You gotta listen to me! I need the money!"

Peter frowned, though the robber couldn't see it „Um, isn't that why every robbery happens?"

The guy shook his head adamantly „No, Spidey, listen! You gotta let me go! I have a family to take care of!"

That made Peter freeze.

„What?" he breathed.

The would-be robber hardly seemed to notice „My family! We ain't got anything anymore! Our house's been destroyed, my wife's in the hospital, I've go two mouths to feed at home!"

Before the guy could prattle on any further, Peter snapped back to his senses.

„Wow, wow, wow." he said, in a way to stop the other from babbling „Don't you have a job?"

The man snorted a bitter laugh into his chin.

„I got fired a couple of days ago." he said „Apparently, the company I work for is in shambles after everything and their cutting off anyone they don't need."

It was like the dark, angry cloud Peter had tried to escape caught up with him full force.

„Son of a bitch." muttered Spider-man.

The robber outright laughed this time „Yeah, my thoughts exactly."

The guy chuckled, shaking his head, before he raised his eyes to meet Peter's. „But you get it Spidey, why I have to do this?" he said it more as a statement than a question. Something in those words, in that tone, made Peter deflate. Peter almost didn't have the strength to contradict him. Almost.

„You still could've found another way."

The panic from before was back in those wide, brown eyes suddenly. The shadows cast from the street-lights outside contorted over the man's face, making any and all other features virtually undistinguishable „No, Spidey, please! Don't take me in! If I go to jail, what's gonna happen to my family?! My boys! I know this was stupid okay, I was desperate, I'm sorry! Just don't take me in!"

_I was desperate, I'm sorry!_

_I knew it was stupid._

'_But he did it anyway' _thought the spider_ 'didn't he?'_

'_But he did it for his kids, right? So he wasn't really doing anything bad...'_

'_He was committing a felony!'_

'_For a good cause! He wasn't hurting anybody!'_

_'Good cause? Hurting anybody? What if he has a gun and he's just waiting to fire it off and escape! What then, smart ass?'_

_'He doesn't have a gun.'_

_With great power comes great responsibility._

Enough.

Peter sucked in a haggard breath. Let it out.

He made his way over behind the counter, where he'd first webbed the guy to the wall. Brown eyes watched his suspiciously, but the man said nothing. Peter could see him a bit better now. He had big ears and a short beard, laugh-lines embedded in his face and bushy eyebrows. He couldn't tell the skin tone or the color of his hair still, they were too well-hidden in the shadows of the robbed store.

Peter closed his eyes, took another breath.

Then he opened his eyes and stared the middle-aged man straight in the face. He knew somehow that this guy wasn't lying. Peter's hand reached out and grabbed his own webbing – it felt both like silk and a sticky cord at the same time, don't ask him how, it did – and pulled on it until it tore.

He did the same with the webbing on the man's wrist.

When had things become so messed up?

Once the man was free, Peter said „Walk."

The guy just looked up at him, stunned.

„What?" he croaked.

Peter put an arm on his shoulder, lead him out to the broken window up front „C'mon. You don't wanna be here when the cops get here."

The man turned to him, wild-eyed. „What about the money?" he asked, looking back to the counter.

Peter looked back too, both at the money on the floor and the still open cash-register. He webbed it shut, then sent another cluster of web to cover the money on the floor. It would be gone in a couple of hours, by then either the police or the owners ought to get here and clean up this mess.

„Alright," said Spider-man, turning to the robber „now we can go."

With that he grabbed the man and webbed his way up a building, swinging low through an alley before gaining height over an intersection a block away. He could feel the guy clinging to his right side, but didn't turn to look at his expression. They kept quiet for the most part, if you ignored the little squeaks and yelps the man let out. It would have been hilarious had it been any other time.

Some minutes later they came to a six-story apartment building a little ways from the center. Peter let go of his charge as they landed, making the man stumble. The street-lights barely reached the roof they stood on.

„Wait here for a second." commanded Peter „Don't go anywhere."

Even in the shrouding darkness, Peter could tell the guy was grinning „Wouldn't dream of it."

Peter just shook his head. _Wouldn't dream of it. Yeah, right._

Choosing not to dwell on it too much, Peter climbed down the wall. He found the bundle of spider web and cloth under the stairs of the emergency exit, just where he'd left it. He fished his wallet from the backpack he'd hidden there, among his day cloths – a backpack that now pretty much contained all his possessions – and headed back to the roof.

He wasn't sure if he was surprised or not that the robber was still there, patient and waiting for him – no weapon drawn, making no move to get away.

It brought him a bit more confidence in what he was about to do.

„Here." he said, shoving the money he'd taken out of his wallet previously into the other's large hands. It wasn't that much, really, but it would have paid a week or two of cheap takeouts.

The guy looked down at it, incredulous. „Wow, hey, Spidey, I can't accept this."

Peter shook his head. „I'd feel better if the money in your pocket was from me, rather than someone who slaved over something you stole."

The man looked at him then, silent and pensive, before he nodded – almost to himself, almost like he knew the turmoil Peter was going to.

„Alright. Thanks."

His words were as if spoken underwater.

Peter shook himself. No, he was Spider-man now, he still had a job to do.

_Then what is this? A failure or a success?_

„Where do you live?"

„Uh, suburbs on the west side."

_You don't really know, do you?_

„Right. C'mon."

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><p>It took them over forty minutes to get to the east side, but that was mostly due to Peter being distracted. When they got to the area the robber lived in, the guy started directing him to his street. When they arrived at the corner, buildings becoming just two-stories and Spidey jumping from street-light to street-light, he lowered the guy down by a strip of web.<p>

The man looked up – to wave goodbye, to thank him, to tell him it was all a fraud and he'd been an idiot to fall for it – but Peter was already gone.

Peter squatted atop the nearest house, watching the guy.

His would-be robber looked around wildly, called out a few times before he must have realized what a fool of himself he was making, standing on the middle of the side-walk at some unholy hour shouting the web-slinger's name.

Then he stood there. Just stood and waited for a while, looked this way and that, and Peter could have sworn his eyes had lingered on the building he was on, but he couldn't be sure.

Eventually, the guy walked away, down the street and past the almost identical family houses before he climbed the steps of one two-story. He stuck his key in the door and vanished inside.

That wasn't too much of a problem for Peter though. He jumped over a few rooftops and exited on the next street parallel to his robber's, then jumped across and ran until he had a good view of the robber's small, unkept backyard and his kitchen window.

It didn't look like a palace or anything, but he'd seen far dingier places in his time too. It was a sad sight though, and Peter somehow felt perverted as he watched the guy's wife set the table, the kids running in, his felon coming in – bare-handing and looking like nothing had even happened – kissed his wife, kissed his children on their foreheads, sat down with his family.

Peter had that, once upon a time. It was so long ago, Peter hardly remembered what it was like to have dinner with his parents, but he remembered him and Uncle Ben hiding Aunt May's casserole under the table and just last week the new recipe Aunt May had used for lunch and just how much he missed all that. He missed being normal.

Peter didn't even realize how much time had passed until the lights went out in the house and the backdoor jingled open. His robber sneaked outside. From his perch, Peter watched him, frowning.

„Hey, Spidey, ya' still here?" the man called when he was standing in the middle of his back-yard. It looked kinda like he was trying to communicate with extraterrestrials or call a UFO to use his back-yard as a parking lot. The man's unintentional silliness made Peter feel a bit better. A bit lighter.

„Yeah, I'm here. How'd you know?" Peter said, swinging down and perching on the wall of the adjoining building.

The man just grinned up at him. „Never took you for the stalker type, Spider-man." he joked. „Call it a feelin'. Would be wrong for the hero to let the „baddy" just slip away into the night without at least knowin' somethin'."

Peter rolled his eyes.

„Yeah, well, don't do it again. I might not be able to turn a blind eye next time." That was a lie, through and through, and Peter knew it.

The man – would-be robber, maybe father, possible fraud – smiled. Maybe he knew he was lying too.

„Thank you."

Maybe he didn't.

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><p><em><strong>AN: I tried to make the scenes with the robber as believable as possible, not sure if I succeeded though... I wanted to explore a new aspect on what happens to people after the Chitauri and everything and Peter angsting and questioning his morality - well, that's a bonus. What do you think guys? Good? Bad? Yes? No? Any suggestions and criticism is welcome! Review?<strong>_


	3. Chapter Two

**AN: Hi guys! I'm back with chapter 2! Just one _quick _question. Are you guys still interested in this thing? I started writing this on a whim and it's survival pretty much depends on the interest people give it. First chapter got over 10 reviews - which is bloody amazing! - and then the next one had next to none... guys, I don't know what to think. You have to tell me whether you want this story to continue or not, because contrary to popular belief I can't read minds!**

**Anyway, here's chapter 2!**

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><p><em>Chapter Two: Break In<em>

Two weeks, three days and eight hours after the end of the Battle or New York and the capture of the war criminal Loki Laufreyson, something in Peter Parker just snapped.

Seven hours later Loki had disappeared from his cell on the Helicarrier, leaving nothing behind but a path of chaos and destruction.

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><p>Walls of white encompassed his world in cold. He was used to it though. He'd lived life-times upon life-times as a willing prisoner in palaces of gold and the endless guild of the Aesir, one that swallowed the whole of Asgard. He, the Jotunn runt lost among the gods, who'd taken pity on the abomination that even the foulest of monsters chose to abandon.<p>

Now, gold gave way to white-washed, soulless gray and a dark, one way-looking glass that made up the the far most side of his cell. Invisible vices turned to chains drenched in magic and ancient runes, sealing his magic deep below his skin.

The mortals were watching him, Loki knew, hidden by that darkened mirror. Surely, there were cameras all over his prison as well. He was being watched like a animal displayed at a human zoo. Just another animal locked away inside a cage. He wondered when they would start to discipline him, to tame him like something wild and unruly thing. Loki wondered if they'd put him out of his misery like a mad dog.

He also had to muse at what these mortals were waiting for. He was theirs now, defeated, defenseless, humiliated. It was the perfect time to exact their revenge on him, to make him suffer under their tiny mortal hands. Like anything they could cook up could measure up to the things he'd already suffered through in Asgard.

Subconsciously, Loki raised a pale hand to touch his lips, where once upon a time a Dwarf seamstress' needle had sown through swollen, bloody flesh. He suppressed a shudder. No, nothing these pitiful mortals could even dream of could amount to that, or any other punishment he'd received over the centuries.

Were they leaving him to Odin, then? To his oh so loving _Father_? Loki grinned to himself. What did they think Odin would to him, Loki had to wonder. What delusions had they immersed themselves with?

Whatever lies they chose to believe, Loki knew the truth. He knew what fate surely awaited him back on Asgard, his once home. He cringed just thinking about it. He feared that if he saw the All-Father again, he wouldn't be able to hold his tongue from spilling all of his contempt before the Court of Asgard. That would not help his case any, but then again he doubted anything could at this point. Except maybe his fool-hardy, stubborn oaf of a not-brother...

Thor, mercifully, hadn't come to visit him in this mortal prison. He hadn't even been the one to drop him off here. When Thor and his mortal friends had taken him to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, Thor had stormed off. Too ashamed to let the mortals look upon his would-be brother? The monster he'd nourished all those years. Had he finally realized the truth, or did he choose still to lie to himself?

Loki chuckled to himself. The Thunderer seemed to have taken up some of his habits, how quaint. Still, Loki knew the moment of disillusionment was near.

* * *

><p>Hours later, in which Loki had stared silently at the glass wall across from him and refused to even blink, something startled the god out of his reviere. It wasn't a sound or any other disturbance of the like. It was a feeling, one that had been tuned by millenia fighting by Thor's side. It was the feeling Loki got whenever Thor was going to do something stupid and potentially deadly – and when the younger cautioned him against it – and the Thunderer did it anyway. Idiot.<p>

But Loki knew when to trust his instincts, and right now they told him something was not right. Unfortunately, he couldn't do anything about it. The Battle of New York, as the mortals had so eloquently dubbed it, had left him drained – both physically, mentally and, dare he say it, emotionally. He'd been so close to regaining all that he'd lost, but no, he could lie to himself no longer. He'd been used by Thanatos as a scapegoat. He was an enemy of Asgard and now of the puny Midgard. He was nothing and no one. He had been since the moment he first took breathe... and nothing Loki did could ever change that.

Helpless now, Loki waited.

The cell he was held in was "state of the art" and didn't allow for sound to venture through the thick, specially designed walls. Loki had no way to know what was going on outside his quarters. He waited, deathly still and keeping his breathing steady and quiet, straining his ears for even a whisper of what was to come.

Then the glass shattered. The broken remnants rained down with their sharp edges striking Loki's hands and face like knifes. Smaller particles too, buried themselves in his skin and open wounds, dusted his hair. Wide-eyed, the God of Mishief looked up. He still held his arms aloof, inches from his face as though to ward off another attack if one came.

What he saw made his eyes widen even further. A man, slim yet obviously well-muscled and wearing one of the most ridiculous costumes Loki had ever seen – and he'd seen a _lot _of those since coming to Midgard – stood where the wall made of the one-way looking glass had once been. The crater was much, much too big for the man who had made it. Loki lowered his arms slightly, so as to better see the intruder. First thing was first. Was he foe or friend?

Loki opened his mouth to say something, but the new-comer was faster. The man shot his arm out with lightning fast speed, as if he were going to throw something from under his arm. Half a millisecond later, Loki found something latching onto his face. Surprised, he let out a yelp of distress, but it came out muffled. Desperately, the Trickster began to claw at the substance covering his mouth. It didn't so much as budge.

Panic beginning to take hold, Loki looked back to his assailant. He jumped back when he found the masked face looming above him like a death omen.

Loki raised his arms on pure instinct, and again the man made the same hand motion from before. More restrains wrapped themselves around Loki's limbs. The restrains cuffed into place with the strength of physical blows, covering every single part of Loki's body until he was fully enclosed by the substance. It was secure and no amount of struggling managed to even make a dent in it. Strangely, while firm it was still soft, almost like a mother's embrace.

Shaking his head at the analogy , Loki took a deep breath and tried to feel his way around. He couldn't even turn properly in the tight space. Soon enough, he knew his oxygen would run out too. Probably. He wasn't sure what this atrocity was made of. Whether or not that happened, Loki knew he wouldn't die of air deprivation. It took more than that to kill a god.

At some point, he felt himself being picked up and slumped over something – and that _something _moving underneath him. He was being carried, abducted by Norns knew what. But then, maybe this was a good thing. This could be a opportunity to escape. It was certainly easier to escape one man – were there others? No, surely if there were, they would have accompanied their accomplice – than an entire organization of „Earth's finest". Then, if he could escape this human, if he could free himself from his magical restrains... then what?

No, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. For now, Loki could only let his abductor carry him away, too tired to fight any longer.

* * *

><p>Peter was exilarated.<p>

He couldn't really begin to describe the feeling. It was so ravenous, so exciting, so _good_. He hadn't felt so right in what seemed like forever. But now he was going to set things right. He'd done a lot of thinking after leaving that robber-guy in his backyard with a month's load of cheap breakfast money. He'd hacked into a couple of data bases and found that the guy's story checked out. He also found out that the guy's name was Roy. He also found out that there were many other people out there who were like Roy, who'd gone bankrupt or very close to it after the whole incident with the Chitauri.

Repercussions were being made and a lot of people were losing their jobs, rapidly. The alien invasion had left it's scars on the city, Peter had no doubt. And while he couldn't just zap himself into outer-space and beat the crap out of some aliens for causing good people to suffer – because beating up aliens had gone over _so well _last time he tried it – he could still punish the one responsible for bringing them here.

Loki needed to pay for all the lives he'd ruined.

* * *

><p>One never quite got used to the stench of the sewers.<p>

Peter was unfortunate enough to know this as a fact of life. He'd crawled in through a hatch in the back of some dingy alley and had wondered how on God's green Earth he could have forgotten to hold his breath when he'd so graciously dropped in. Seriously, it stank in here.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, it all came down at how you were looking at it – Peter knew the sewer system like the back of his hand. Okay, Peter amended, it was unfortunate. Still, it came in handy on more than one occasion. Like now, for instance. Peter couldn't believe he'd gone through with his crazy plan, even after everything. He'd basically kidnapped Earth's Most Wanted! And from the Helicarrier, no less! It'd been surprisingly easy to get on board actually. He'd hacked into a small part of their system, made himself some non-existent appointment about an internship or whatnot and even went as far as to make himself a false identity, hack into a few local data bases and give his false identity a life and bada boom bada bing! In the state of disarray of most of the national agencies, Peter guessed they had bigger things to worry about that supposedly new recruits.

All he'd had to do after putting his charade into action was get on a S.H.I.E.L.D. aircraft to take him up to the Helicarrier with a bunch of other people who'd decided they wanted to join the organization and protect the planet from further threats. No one even noticed when he slipped away on his own!

But now the classy "spy-work" and sneaking around top-secret buildings – aircrafts? – was over and the glory of crawling through sewer pipes was predominant in Peter's plan. Life sucked.

Peter, being an expert on the New York under-underground – as well as the regular underground – found his designated spot easily. It was a massive intersection connecting a couple of blocks, tunnels filled water surrounding it on all sides and spit the sewer's contents in waterfalls and down, down below where there was a drain or something. Peter never went there.

But, anyway, that meant there was a good portion of empty space above the drain and polluted waterfalls. He'd used this spot as a stake out once before, when the Lizard had been at large, so building a more complex web after being already familiar with the area... well, it was a piece of cake for old Pete.

Peter made a web like one his miniature cousins now, made it like a platform above the sewer chamber and set his cocoon – it was like a mummified fly or something and it was creepy as hell – in the center. He then took out a small pocket-knife – it used to be Uncle Ben's too – and cut up his handy-work.

A head of black emerged from the white mass, lolling lifelessly to the side. But Peter knew the Trickster had merely fallen unconscious. His web, while dense, still allowed a restricted amount of air to pass through it.

Hatred seared in Peter's chest like wildfire, his face contorted into a loathful glower.

The lower part of that dreadful face was still covered, everything below the nose was, and Peter decided to leave it that way for the night.

He had to get away, sort out his head, before he did something he might regret later.

If it wasn't too late for that already.

* * *

><p>Peter rode his skateboard 'round the streets of New York after making his way out of the sewers. He'd decided to get some distance covered before turning back into his Spider-Man visage. He still couldn't believe he'd actually done it. That he'd captured the Most Wanted Villain in the history of the planet. He could finally make things right. Loki wouldn't escape justice.<p>

Still, he couldn't just hand them over to the police – ignoring the fact that they would probably shoot him on sight – they'd just hand him over to S.H.I.E.L.D. again. Peter couldn't let that happen. So what? Leave him on the streets? Dangle him in front of a mob of angry New Yorkers? Peter knew that wasn't the way.

No, he'd work out the finer details later.

The most important thing right now was that Loki wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

A few blocks away from where Peter had emerged from the sewers, Spider-Man took flight once again. He swung from building to building like a ghost, so fast and gracious one could have blinked and missed him entirely.

In a few minutes, Peter landed on the fire-escape of the Stacy building. The light was out in Gwen's room, which Peter found kinda weird, since Gwen had a habit of staying up late since finding out about his alter-ego. Deciding to check in and leave if she was asleep, Peter crawled along the wall untill he was looking into Gwen's window upside-down. There was no one in the room.

Panicking slightly, Peter fished out his phone and pressed _2_ on speed dial.

The phone rang thrice, giving people just enough time to jump from window to window and confirm the rest of the Stacies were gone as well, before Gwen picked up.

Peter breathed a silent sigh of relief "_Gwen? Hey, where are you? I'm at your apartment and–"_

"_Peter." _Gwen cut him off. Peter paused. What was with her voice? It sounded strained, heartbroken – even more so than when she'd left him a voice-mail after her father had died.

Peter felt a lump lodge itself into his throat "_Gwen? What's wrong?"_

"_I'm leaving, Peter."_

He could only blink, too shocked to register the meaning of those words.

"_What?" _he croaked.

He heard Gwen sigh resonate through the phone "_My mom decided to move all of us to her sister's place in San Francisco, we're boarding the plane in twenty minutes."_

Peter tried to swallow, finding it increasingly hard to breathe. "_Gwen? Gwen, what are you saying?"_

There was a pause on the other end.

"_I'm sorry Peter, but this is goodbye."_

Then the line went dead.

* * *

><p>Sleep found Peter layed out on a fire-escape of an abandoned building, his bed made of web and extra clothing. Sleep found Peter a good eighteen hours after that phone-call, only when he was so thoroughly exhausted he couldn't carry on with his endless patrol. He'd spent the first two hours after finding out Gwen was gone – <em>left him – <em>just sitting there on the fire escape, much like the one he was splayed across now, next to her window and staring off into space, utterly lost. Then he'd gotten up, feeling numb and like his body was completely separate from the rest of his being, and disappeared into night. Sixteen hours later he'd found himself on another fire-escape, scratched up, tired and just wanting to sleep and maybe never wake up. But he still had Loki to deal with, so that wouldn't do.

He'd debated whether or not to go out on patrol tonight, but decided it would be best to just act like everything was normal for New York's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man so as not to be suspicious. Still, Peter knew there was an impossibly high chance of someone figuring it out, it was only a matter of time. After all, his solution for Spider-Man not being seen on the cameras was to cover them in bed. It was a new brand he'd invented, designed to dissolve in minutes rather than hours and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on duty had hopefully been too preoccupied with their escapee to take a sample of it. Hopefully. But at the end of it all, Peter knew it was just a matter of time. He just had to think of a good alibi by then. For Spider-Man, that is, because hopefully no one would connect Peter Parker to any of this mess.

He was starting to use the word _hopefully _way too much for his liking. This mess still seemed so surreal to him.

He'd have to keep a low profile after tonight, still go out on patrol but for the smaller criminals. No big-ass heroics, no catching the spot-light. No, now it was time for rest.

Peter had decided not to sleep in the abandoned building, he felt too caged for that. So he settled on a nest of web and some of his old jackets – and he had to admit it was pretty comfortable, plus the spider-web acted as isolation from the cold – and drifted into an uneasy slumber.

Some part of him still clung to the hope that this was all just a nightmare and everything would be just the way it was when he opened his eyes. Another part told him he should stop lying to himself.

* * *

><p><em>All around him, there was only ruin.<em>

_He could turn left and right and up and down and still there would be only three walls to their once cozy little living room and he'd still be able to see the blue, blue sky that looked so peaceful and serene above him – like it was just another ordinary day, like nothing had happened, nothing at all. He wanted to scream at it. A few feet from him there was a hole in the carpet – Aunt May would have been desolated if she'd been able to see it, he thought as pain throbbed to life in his chest, that carpet had been a family heirloom. The crater revealed the basement below, where their ceiling and most of the outer wall now rested._

_Rubble and dust covered almost every surface, giving it a look of a tragedy that had happened centuries ago and the world had already forgotten about. Had it ever been known about at all? But no, he knew about it._

_He'd caused it._

_Peter hadn't been able to protect her. It was his fault._

_No, it wasn't. It wasn't because it was _his _fault._ His!

_But _he_ wasn't here now and yet_ Peter_ still couldn't save anyone or anything. He couldn't save Aunt May._

_Peter's head turned almost against his will to the wooden archway leading to the kitchen. It was bigger than the last time he'd gone through it, with derbis and pipes and god-knew-what flecking and falling off of it, like sand being washed away into nothing._

_His brown eyes drifted from his ruined home to Aunt May's domain. The kitchen behind the archway was nothing more than slabs of concrete, pipes and furniture that was destroyed beyond all recognition._

_Somewhere beneath all that ruin, a head of black poked out through the remnants of his childhood home. May's black hair was streaked with gray, but whether it was natural or dusted with debris and filth, Peter couldn't tell._

_One of her pale, bony hands reached out to him where it lay lifeless on the cracked floor-boards._

_Something moved and for a split-second of wild hope, Peter thought he saw Aunt May trying to raise her head. He hadn't. From her gray hair fell a spider, shifting her disheveled strands of black. Aunt May's fringe moved again, hair spilling and swirling this way and that as miniature bugs crawled in and bound her hair, leaving threads of invisible white and silver._

_They crawled across her hair and skin, like a black plague across a white canvas, threatening to swallow May whole and hide her away in a cocoon. Hidden forever from Peter's eyes._

_Peter screamed as he shot forward to rip the bugs away from his precious Aunt's form. Something held him back._

_He tugged and twisted in his captor's grip, but it didn't relent._

_Desperate, Peter craned his neck around to look over his shoulder. He only saw columns of white and sticky threads of silver._

_He was a spider caught in his own web._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Not sure if I'm happy with how that turned out. I'll focus more on what's going on in Peter's head next chapter - I'm so excited about that! I get to torture Peter some more! *grins evilly* I hope neither Loki or Pete were out of character! If you have anything to say - any critics, suggestions or anything else, please drop me a comment!<em><br>_**


	4. Author's Note

**This chapter has been deleted. For some reason it had been replaced with a copy of Chapter Two. Chapter Three was obliterated. I'm going to have to rewrite it, so apologies for that and the long wait as well. I don't know what happened.**

**Since I'm rewriting Chapter Three from scratch, it will be different than the original. Again, sorry. I'm not sure when I'll be able to put it up.**

**Anyway, thanks for sticking with me for so long. Your support mean a lot to me! :)**


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